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“I’ve just been busy,” I lie.

“Busy avoiding me?”

He turns me around to face him. “What do you want me to say? It’s weird. I don't know where we stand and I don't know how to act now,” I mumble, mortified that I’m one, admitting this and two, doing it here in a crowded bar. He cracks a smile and tugs me against him in a tight hug. My body melts into his and even though he hasn't said anything, the tightness in my chest eases tremendously with the feeling of his body pressed to mine, holding me, he's like my own personal weighted blanket.

“I’m sorry if you’ve felt uncomfortable and I never want you to feel like you need toactany certain way.” He pulls back just enough to search my face. “What do you want, Camila? What will make you happy?” What I want is to go back in time. To whenever I started having these weird feelings for him and tell myself it’s not going to go anywhere. I want to tell him that this awkward place we've been in since the fundraiser is killing me and I want to stop being confused, trying to differentiate between what's real and what’s not between us.

But since I’ll never say any of that out loud— “I want us to get back to whatever our version of normal is,” I mumble without looking at him.

“Okay done,” he shrugs. And my head snaps up to look at him.

“No, Miles.”

“What?”

“You can’t just saydoneand it’s fixed.”

“Then tell me what you want me to do and I’ll do it.” I might not know what I want, but I’m not sure he knows what he wants either. He’s constantly contradicting himself—one minute he’s starting to open up, and the next he’s telling me that night was a mistake. The fact is, Ihavebeen avoiding him. And I might be setting myself up for failure here but I like being around him too much. I’d rather stuff my feelings for him down to the deepest parts of myself, than avoid him anymore in hopes that those feelings go away.

“I just want you to talk to me. Or at least do that annoying one-word answer to avoid my questions thing that you do when I talk to you. Just something,” I say.

“Okay, let’s talk.” I eye him suspiciously as we sit down on a pair of stools nearby. A minute passes and the corners of his lips start to twitch, like he’s working overtime to hide his smile. “So,” he begins. “What do you want to talk about?” I roll my eyes and shove his broad shoulder getting up from the stool.

“Wait, I’m sorry. Come here,” he says, reaching for my arm. “Let’s talk.” The combination of the warmth from his hand wrapping around me and the way his eyes are pleading with me causes me to melt. So once more I sit back down on my stool. “Why don’t you tell me about the job interview you went to the other day.”

I’m caught off guard at the mention of that interview or how he even knows about it but at least my stomach doesn’t sink at the memory like I expected it to. “Who said I had an interview?”

“Well, it’s been a week since you said you applied.” My head tilts knowing there’s more. “And I saw your little black heels on the floor the other day.”

I shake my head, not surprised by his attention to detail. But even though I’ve moved on from that particularly unpleasant day, I still don’t want to talk about it. “Alright, well it doesn’t matter because that would be me talking to you,again.”

“It’s just so much more enjoyable for me to hear you talk, though.” His hand rests on my lap and I instinctively scoot closer to him. I’ve never been so attracted or wanted to understand and be let in by someone so infuriating. He’s saying all the right things now but it doesn’t negate all the wrong things he’s already said.

“Well, it doesn’t seem like we’re getting anywhere or that we’ll figure anything out tonight, so instead, why don’t you tell me what your tattoo means now?”

“I already told you what it means,” he whispers against my cheek.

“You told me the textbook definition.” His lips twist in thought as his thumb brushes lightly over my thigh.

“You’re up, Mila.” Taylor’s arm slings over my shoulders and she holds a handful of darts in front of me.

I take them, hopping off the bar stool and Miles follows close behind me as I make my way to the battered old line of tape on the floor. I pull my arm back, squinting out of one eye, aiming for the board. I feel the weight of Miles’s hands rest on my hips as he whispers in my ear. “We’ll figure it out, Camila. Together.” I let the dart fly.

“Bullseye!” Taylor shouts, running to give me a high five. “And that’s how it’s done, boys.” She turns to Jonas who’s standing there slack-jawed, and fires off finger guns. “Pew Pew,” she sounds off before holstering her fingers.

“Alright relax, Annie Oakley. It’s only the first round and you haven’t seen what I can do yet,” Jonas drawls.

“Well if you’re so confident, let’s double the bet.”

Jonas’s eyes narrow before he sticks out his hand for her to shake. “You’re on.”

When I turn around Miles is already sitting back down on his stool. My chest is still sparking like a live wire at his words.Together.None of this has felt like it was for show. No one could hear us, if he wanted to be performative, he could have been whispering dad jokes in my ear for all these people would know. I hand my remaining darts to Jonas and make my way over to where Miles is sitting. I stand between his legs and his hands clasp together behind my back. Heat radiates through my shirt and I can feel his touch down to my bones. My fingers dig into his thighs as he leans forward and brings his lips to the corner of my mouth, leaving a trail of soft kisses from my nose, to my forehead, and back down to my neck. “Let’s go home,” he whispers.

The car ride home is so quiet I wonder if Miles can hear my thoughts. I don’t know if it’s the one watered-down drink I had almost three hours ago, or my own stupidity that propels me to reach for his hand. But before I have time to question it, his big rough hand is sandwiched between my cold, smaller ones.

“Do you always have these callouses?” I ask, running my finger over the thick pads on his palm.

“Mostly.”